


Blakefield Winter Wonderland 2020: Day 2, Ice Skating

by RUHX



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27846978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUHX/pseuds/RUHX
Summary: On a rest rotation behind the lines, Tom embarrassing himself during a platoon run results in a new ice skating game, soft Blakefield at the end.
Relationships: Blakefield - Relationship, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Walking In A Blakefield Wonderland





	Blakefield Winter Wonderland 2020: Day 2, Ice Skating

It’s still winter, the dull overcast days threatening icy rain with a bone deep bite dragging on for weeks that blur into months, the relentless dark of the night drawing in by three in the afternoon making it feel ten times worse. It rains first, then freezes. Sleet quickly gives way to snow. For a few weeks it warms a little, just enough to allow the snow melt in the day only for the meltwater sitting on the saturated surface to freeze again overnight. 

It’s miserable to march through in the company root marches, running in afternoon PT worse. But it doesn’t stop the men having a little fun with it during downtime before supper. 

The whole thing starts accidentally when Tom slides the entire length of a treacherous icy patch churned up by tired and soaked feet trampling over the same spots to access the camp during a run, having to crudely skate to not fall flat on his ass, his legs working overtime to keep from collapsing out from underneath him. He’s nearly made it to the end of the ice patch when his legs do finally slide apart, resulting in Tom awkwardly doing the splits, Will and the man behind colliding into him. 

The impact has Will stumble too and feeling the force of his knees in Tom’s back whilst he’s starting to sit upright to get out of the way winds him and he has to spend a few moments seated and catching his breath before he can try to get up again.

The lieutenant leading the run calls a halt among the chaos and colourful language that streams from Tom’s mouth. The lieutenant, a man nicknamed Smithy by the men but formally called Smith, a stony faced man at the best of times, gives him a thunderous look and Tom’s swears fade out to mumbling under his breath at the ridiculous indignity of it. He’s grateful Lieutenant Smith lets his language slide and makes no further comment as he slowly gets up, aided by Will and one of the men who made it to a relatively safe spot.

Tom’s face heats at some snickering at the mud caked on his trousers and some of his tunic and he’s grateful when Lieutenant Smith calls a firm  _ enough,  _ the sort of tone that commands immediate attention and silence. The sort of tone you don’t try your luck with. They’re getting ready to move off in slow time when someone says;

“You could make a game outta that,” in a rough gravelly voice. 

“Take a run atta it, see who can slide the furthest,” someone else adds.

“Dully noted,” Smith says dryly but Tom sees the twinkle in the man’s eye and swallows as his face heats further when the lieutenant glances in his direction. “Dunno lads might have to make the run longer Corporal Blake nearly made the whole length,” the lieutenant’s dry tone gets under Tom’s skin and he worries at his lip but he says nothing.

“Can barely call that a slide more like a bad attempt at figure skating,” the man who suggested the new game replies. Tom has to think hard about if it’s worth getting in trouble punching the man’s annoying rat-like face. 

“Point taken,” Tom bites out as he reorganizes his uniform, deciding it’s not worth a month of latrine duty.

“Simmer down,” Will mutters.

The frozen mud near their billets is roughly a twenty-five yard stretch, becomes closer to twenty-eight after another heavy rain shower helps to further chew up the ground and freezes solid again. Lieutenant Smith marks out the start and finish line with a shovel, the rules explained by the platoon sergeant roped into refereeing the game. 

It’s simple enough, take a run at it and see how close to the end of the twenty-eight yards you can get without falling over. The prize for the longest run done without cheating gets a favor, either a day release pass or a night off working on wiring or bringing stores down to the front lines, winner’s choice.

“Look at the bloody idiot,” Tom mutters under his breath to Will as their platoon line up to observe, the lieutenant looking ridiculous as he dramatically steps out the distance for comedic effect and digs in a finish line at the opposite end. He’s trying to boost the low morale except Tom’s still fired up from the previous day, his irritation building into a low simmer accompanied by an aching groin as he works himself up for getting pulled up to demonstrate.

Except he doesn’t, it’s the rat-faced man with the gravelly voice who suggested the game and three of his friends in the first place and Tom can’t help but curl his lips up into a sneer when he falls over in the mud before even hitting the ice. 

“Language,” Lieutenant Smith chides when the rat-faced man gets up to make another sad attempt. He barely makes a full yard before falling flat on his ass, face turning into stony anger and bitter disappointment. His three friends don’t make it much further, falling into compromising positions they’ll feel marching for days.

By the time it’s Tom and Will’s turn Tom’s feeling fired up for different reasons, competitive determination taking the place of his wounded pride, further aided by the fact none of the men playing the game made it more than half way. He, Will and a signaler he doesn't know are the last to have a go in the makeshift ice skating game.

“Looser sleeps outside,” Tom mutters as he and Will line up for their turn.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Wills says firmly. 

“Suit yourself, thought the stargazing was nice this time of year,” Tom mutters with a shrug. He begins the run and slides, making a more concerted effort to keep his feet under him to make the same distance. It’s easier this time, still lacking in both grace and dignity but he tries to treat it more like actual ice skating than trying to stay upright for as long as he can.

He makes the full length, half stumbling as his feet slide onto less treacherous ground but can’t help how his heart lifts realizing he made the furthest distance out of the whole platoon sans Will. The victory’s sweeter when the rat-faced man who suggested the game to mock him glowers at him. 

Tom grins when Will catches onto his technique and makes a similar distance. He stumbles at the end but Tom thinks he did well for a first try.

The platoon is dispersed for free time before supper and Tom’s called to stay. 

“Thank you for being a good sport,” Smith opens with and Tom exhales a sharp breath shaped around a grin. “Just give the sergeant 24 hours notice when you want to cash in that favor, yeah?”

“I will sir, thank you,” Tom acknowledges, snaps his feet to attention in a half salute and saunters off to find Will when he’s dismissed. 

Will’s not far away, waiting to walk around the perimeter of the camp that backs onto a wooded area. Tom’s starting to feel the cold by the time they get there. He’s happy just having these small moments of quiet alone with Will though and bears the cold willingly. 

They trudge through the partially melted snow in relative privacy. In a more covered area where the trees thicken, Will stops and draws Tom close. They’re so close Tom can feel the warmth of Will’s breath ease his chilled face. Tom glances around their surroundings, quiet only for some squabbling jackdaws in a nearby tree. Even the distant threat of the artillery guns seemed to have fallen silent to allow them this brief moment of peace with each other.

Tom leans in and Will meets him the rest of the way. The brush of lips is chaste, a brief press on chapped skin. Regardless, time seems to pause, what’s barely seconds seems to stretch out for eternity. They pull away and hold eye contact for a brief moment as Will’s fingers trail down Tom’s arm to find his and lace together. They haven’t had their relationship going for long but it already feels so natural to walk with their fingers interlocked and shoulders bumping together. 

The trees open up again to exposed land and Tom regrets having to let go of Will’s hand as they make their way back to their tent to settle down for the night as the first flakes of an early evening snow storm begin to fall. 


End file.
